 | All's Well, that Ends Well |  |
Actus Tertius.
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, the two Frenchmen, with a troope of Souldiers.Duke.
So that from point to point, now haue you heard
Whose great decision hath much blood let forth
And more thirsts after.
1. Lord.
Holy seemes the quarrell
Vpon your Graces part: blacke and fearefull
On the opposer.
Duke.
Therefore we meruaile much our Cosin France
Would in so iust a businesse, shut his bosome
Against our borrowing prayers.
French E.
Good my Lord,
The reasons of our state I cannot yeelde,
But like a common and an outward man,
That the great figure of a Counsaile frames,
By selfe vnable motion, therefore dare not
Say what I thinke of it, since I haue found
My selfe in my incertaine grounds to faile
As often as I guest.
Duke.
Be it his pleasure.
Fren. G.
But I am sure the yonger of our nature,
That surfet on their ease, will day by day
Come heere for Physicke.
Duke.
Welcome shall they bee:
And all the honors that can flye from vs,
Shall on them settle: you know your places well,
When better fall, for your auailes they fell,
To morrow to'th the field.
Flourish.
Enter Countesse and Clowne.
Count.
It hath happen'd all, as I would haue had it, saue
that he comes not along with her.
Clo.
By my troth I take my young Lord to be a verie
melancholly man.
Count.
By what obseruance I pray you.
Clo.
Why he will looke vppon his boote, and sing:
mend the Ruffe and sing, aske questions and sing, picke
his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this tricke of
melancholy hold a goodly Mannor for a song.
Lad.
Let me see what he writes, and when he meanes
to come.
Clow.
I haue no minde to Isbell since I was at Court.
Our old Lings, and our Isbels a'th Country, are nothing
like your old Ling and your Isbels a'th Court: the brains
of my Cupid's knock'd out, and I beginne to loue, as an
old man loues money, with no stomacke.
Lad.
What haue we heere?
Clo.
In that you haue there.
A Letter.
I haue sent you a daughter-in-Law, shee hath recouered the
King, and vndone me: I haue wedded her, not bedded her,
and sworne to make the not eternall. You shall heare I am
runne away, know it before the report come. If there bee
bredth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My
duty to you.
Your vnfortunate sonne,
Bertram.
To flye the fauours of so good a King,
To plucke his indignation on thy head,
By the misprising of a Maide too vertuous
For the contempt of Empire.
Enter Clowne.
Clow.
O Madam, yonder is heauie newes within betweene
two souldiers, and my yong Ladie.
La.
What is the matter.
Clo.
Nay there is some comfort in the newes, some
comfort, your sonne will not be kild so soone as I thoght
he would.
La.
Why should he be kill'd?
Clo.
So say I Madame, if he runne away, as I heare he
does, the danger is in standing too't, that's the losse of
men, though it be the getting of children. Heere they
come will tell you more. For my part I onely heare your
sonne was run away.
Enter Hellen and two Gentlemen.
French E.
Saue you good Madam.
Hel.
Madam, my Lord is gone, for euer gone.
French G.
Do not say so.
La.
Thinke vpon patience, pray you Gentlemen,
I haue felt so many quirkes of ioy and greefe,
That the first face of neither on the start
Can woman me vntoo't. Where is my sonne I pray you?
Fren. G.
Madam he's gone to serue the Duke of Florence,
We met him thitherward, for thence we came:
And after some dispatch in hand at Court,
Thither we bend againe.
Hel.
Looke on his Letter Madam, here's my Pasport.
When thou canst get the Ring vpon my finger, which neuer
shall come off, and shew mee a childe begotten of thy bodie,
that I am father too, then call me husband: but in such a (then)
I write a Neuer.
La.
Brought you this Letter Gentlemen?
1. G.
I Madam, and for the Contents sake are sorrie
for our paines.
Old La.
I prethee Ladie haue a better cheere,
If thou engrossest, all the greefes are thine,
Thou robst me of a moity: He was my sonne,
But I do wash his name out of my blood,
And thou art all my childe. Towards Florence is he?
Fren. G.
I Madam.
La.
And to be a souldier.
Fren. G.
Such is his noble purpose, and beleeu't
The Duke will lay vpon him all the honor
That good conuenience claimes.
La.
Returne you thither.
Fren. E.
I Madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.
Hel.
Till I haue no wife, I haue nothing in France,
'Tis bitter.
La.
Finde you that there?
Hel.
I Madame.
Fren. E.
'Tis but the boldnesse of his hand haply, which
his heart was not consenting too.
Lad.
Nothing in France, vntill he haue no wife:
There's nothing heere that is too good for him
But onely she, and she deserues a Lord
That twenty such rude boyes might tend vpon,
And call her hourely Mistris. Who was with him?
Fren. E.
A seruant onely, and a Gentleman: which I
haue sometime knowne.
La.
Parolles was it not?
Fren. E.
I my good Ladie, hee.
La.
A verie tainted fellow, and full of wickednesse,
My sonne corrupts a well deriued nature
With his inducement.
Fren. E.
Indeed good Ladie the fellow has a deale of
that, too much, which holds him much to haue.
La.
Y'are welcome Gentlemen, I will intreate you
when you see my sonne, to tell him that his sword can
neuer winne the honor that he looses: more Ile intreate
Fren. G.
We serue you Madam in that and all your
worthiest affaires.
La.
Not so, but as we change our courtesies,
Will you draw neere?
Exit.
Hel.
Till I haue no wife I haue nothing in France.
Nothing in France vntill he has no wife:
Thou shalt haue none Rossillion, none in France,
Then hast thou all againe: poore Lord, is't I
That chase thee from thy Countrie, and expose
Those tender limbes of thine, to the euent
Of the none-sparing warre? And is it I,
That driue thee from the sportiue Court, where thou
Was't shot at with faire eyes, to be the marke
Of smoakie Muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride vpon the violent speede of fire,
Fly with false ayme, moue the still-peering aire
That sings with piercing, do not touch my Lord:
Who euer shoots at him, I set him there.
Who euer charges on his forward brest
I am the Caitiffe that do hold him too't,
And though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected: Better 'twere
I met the rauine Lyon when he roar'd
With sharpe constraint of hunger: better 'twere,
That all the miseries which nature owes
Were mine at once. No come thou home Rossillion,
Whence honor but of danger winnes a scarre,
As oft it looses all. I will be gone:
My being heere it is, that holds thee hence,
Shall I stay heere to doo't? No, no, although
The ayre of Paradise did fan the house,
And Angles offic'd all: I will be gone,
That pittifull rumour may report my flight
To consolate thine eare. Come night, end day,
For with the darke (poore theefe) Ile steale away.
Exit.
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Rossillion, drum and trumpets, soldiers, Parrolles.
Duke.
The Generall of our horse thou art, and we
Great in our hope, lay our best loue and credence
Vpon thy promising fortune.
Ber.
Sir it is
A charge too heauy for my strength, but yet
Wee'l striue to beare it for your worthy sake,
To th'extreme edge of hazard.
Duke.
Then go thou forth,
And fortune play vpon thy prosperous helme
As thy auspicious mistris.
Ber.
This very day
Great Mars I put my selfe into thy file,
Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall proue
A louer of thy drumme, hater of loue.
Exeunt omnes
Enter Countesse & Steward.
La.
Alas! and would you take the letter of her:
Might you not know she would do, as she has done,
By sending me a Letter. Reade it agen.
Letter.
I am S. Iaques Pilgrim, thither gone:
Ambitious loue hath so in me offended,
That bare-foot plod I the cold ground vpon
With sainted vow my faults to haue amended.
Write, write, that from the bloodie course of warre,
My dearest Master your deare sonne, may hie,
Blesse him at home in peace. Whilst I from farre,
His name with zealous feruour sanctifie:
His taken labours bid him me forgiue:
I his despightfull Iuno sent him forth,
From Courtly friends, with Camping foes to liue,
Where death and danger dogges the heeles of worth.
He is too good and faire for death, and mee,
Whom I my selfe embrace, to set him free.
[Countess]
Ah what sharpe stings are in her mildest words?
Rynaldo, you did neuer lacke aduice so much,
As letting her passe so: had I spoke with her,
I could haue well diuerted her intents,
Which thus she hath preuented.
Ste.
Pardon me Madam,
If I had giuen you this at ouer-night,
She might haue beene ore-tane: and yet she writes
Pursuite would be but vaine.
La.
What Angell shall
Blesse this vnworthy husband, he cannot thriue,
Vnlesse her prayers, whom heauen delights to heare
And loues to grant, repreeue him from the wrath
Of greatest Iustice. Write, write Rynaldo,
To this vnworthy husband of his wife,
Let euerie word waigh heauie of her worth,
That he does waigh too light: my greatest greefe,
Though little he do feele it, set downe sharpely.
Dispatch the most conuenient messenger,
When haply he shall heare that she is gone,
He will returne, and hope I may that shee
Hearing so much, will speede her foote againe,
Led hither by pure loue: which of them both
Is deerest to me, I haue no skill in sence
To make distinction: prouide this Messenger:
My heart is heauie, and mine age is weake,
Greefe would haue teares, and sorrow bids me speake.
Exeunt
A Tucket afarre off.
Enter old Widdow of Florence, her daughter, Violenta and Mariana, with other Citizens.
Widdow.
Nay come,
For if they do approach the Citty,
We shall loose all the sight.
Diana.
They say, the French Count has done
Most honourable seruice.
Wid.
It is reported,
That he has taken their great'st Commander,
And that with his owne hand he slew
The Dukes brother: we haue lost our labour,
They are gone a contrarie ways harke,
you may know by their Trumpets.
Maria.
Come lets returne againe,
And suffice our selues with the report of it.
Well Diana, take heed of this French Earle,
The honor of a Maide is her name,
And no Legacie is so rich
As honestie.
Widdow.
I haue told my neighbour
How you haue beene solicited by a Gentleman
His Companion.
I know that knaue, hang him, one Parolles,
a filthy Officer he is in those suggestions for the young
Earle, beware of them Diana; their promises, entisements,
oathes, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are
not the things they go vnder: many a maide hath beene
seduced by them, and the, miserie is example, that so
terrible shewes in the wracke of maiden hood, cannot
for all that disswade succession, but that they are limed
with the twigges that threatens them. I hope I neede
not to aduise you further, but I hope your owne grace
will keepe you where you are, though there were no
further danger knowne, but the modestie which is so
lost.
Dia.
You shall not neede to feare me.
Enter Hellen.
Wid.
I hope so: looke here comes a pilgrim, I know
she will lye at my house, thither they send one another,
Ile question her. God saue you pilgrim, whether are
bound?
Hel.
To S. Iaques la grand.
Where do the Palmers lodge, I do beseech you?
Wid.
At the S. Francis heere beside the Port.
Hel.
Is this the way?
A march afarre.
Wid.
I marrie ist. Harke you, they come this way:
If you will tarrie holy Pilgrime
But till the troopes come by,
I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd,
The rather for I thinke I know your hostesse
As ample as my selfe.
Hel.
Is it your selfe?
Wid.
If you shall please so Pilgrime.
Hel.
I thanke you, and will stay vpon your leisure.
Wid.
you came I thinke from France?
Hel.
I did so.
Wid.
Heere you shall see a Countriman of yours
That has done worthy seruice.
Hel.
His name I pray you?
Dia.
The Count Rossillion: know you such a one?
Hel.
But by the eare that heares most nobly of him:
His face I know not.
Dia.
What somere he is
He's brauely taken heere. He stole from France
As 'tis reported: for the King had married him
Against his liking. Thinke you it is so?
Hel.
I surely meere the truth, I know his Lady.
Dia.
There is a Gentleman that serues the Count
Reports but coursely of her.
Hel.
What's his name?
Dia.
Monsieur Parolles.
Hel.
Oh I beleeue with him,
In argument of praise, or to the worth
Of the great Count himselfe, she is too meane
To haue her name repeated, all her deseruing
Is a reserued honestie, and that
I haue not heard examin'd.
Dian.
Alas poore Ladie,
'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife
Of a detesting Lord.
Wid.
I write good creature, wheresoere she is,
Her hart waighes sadly: this yong maid might do her
A shrewd turne if she pleas'd.
Hel.
How do you meane?
May be the amorous Count solicites her
In the vnlawfull purpose.
Wid.
He does indeede,
And brokes with all that can in such a suite
Corrupt the tender honour of a Maide:
But she is arm'd for him, and keepes her guard
In honestest defence.
Drumme and Colours.
Enter Count Rossillion, Parrolles, and the whole Armie.
Mar.
The goddes forbid else.
Wid.
So, now they come:
That is Anthonio the Dukes eldest sonne,
That Escalus.
Hel.
Which is the Frenchman?
Dia.
Hee,
That with the plume, 'tis a most gallant fellow,
I would he lou'd his wife: if he were honester
He were much goodlier. Is't not a handsom Gentleman
Hel.
I like him well.
Di.
'Tis pitty he is not honest: yonds that same knaue
That leades him to these places: were I his Ladie,
I would poison that vile Rascall.
Hel.
Which is he?
Dia.
That Iacke an-apes with scarfes. Why is hee
melancholly?
Hel.
Perchance he's hurt i'th battaile.
Losse our drum? Well.
Mar.
He's shrewdly vext at something. Looke he
has spyed vs.
Wid.
Marrie hang you.
Mar.
And your curtesie, for a ring-carrier.
Exit.
Wid.
The troope is past: Come pilgrim, I wil bring
you, Where you shall host: Of inioyn'd penitents
Alreadie at my house.
Hel.
I humbly thanke you:
Please it this Matron, and this gentle Maide
To eate with vs to night, the charge and thanking
Shall be for me. and to requite you further,
I will bestow some precepts of this Virgin,
Worthy the note.
Both.
Wee'l take your offer kindly.
Exeunt.
Enter Count Rossillion and the Frenchmen, as at first.
Cap. E.
Nay good my Lord put him too't: let him
haue his way.
Cap. G.
If your Lordshippe finde him not a Hilding,
hold me no more in your respect.
Cap. E.
On my life my Lord a bubble.
Ber.
Do you thinke I am so farre
Deceiued in him.
Cap. E.
Beleeue it my Lord, in mine owne direct
knowledge, without any malice, but to speake of him
as my kinsman, hee's a most notable Coward, an infinite
and endlesse Lyar, an hourely promise-breaker, the
owner of no one good qualitie, worthy your Lordships
entertainment.
Cap. G.
It were fit you knew him, least reposing too
farre in his vertue which he hath not, he might at some
great and trustie businesse, in a maine daunger, fayle
you.
Ber.
I would I knew in what particular action to try
him.
Cap. G.
None better then to let him fetch off his
drumme, which you heare him so confidently vndertake
to do.
C. E.
I with a troop of Florentines wil sodainly surprize
not from the enemie: wee will binde and hoodwinke
him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried
into the Leager of the aduersaries, when we bring
him to our owne tents: be but your Lordship present
at his examination, if he do not for the promise of his
life, and in the highest compulsion of base feare, offer to
betray you, and deliuer all the intelligence in his power
against you, and that with the diuine forfeite of his
soule vpon oath, neuer trust my iudgement in anie
thing.
Cap. G.
O for the loue of laughter, let him fetch his
drumme, he sayes he has a stratagem for't: when your
Lordship sees the bottome of this successe in't, and to
what mettle this counterfeyt lump of ours will be melted
if you giue him not Iohn drummes entertainement,
your inclining cannot be remoued. Heere he comes.
Enter Parrolles.
Cap. E.
O for the loue of laughter hinder not the honor
of his designe, let him fetch off his drumme in any
hand.
Ber.
How now Monsieur? This drumme sticks sorely
in your disposition.
Cap. G.
A pox on't, let it go, 'tis but a drumme.
Par.
But a drumme: Ist but a drumme? A drum so
lost. There was excellent command, to charge in with
our horse vpon our owne wings, and to rend our owne
souldiers.
Cap. G.
That was not to be blam'd in the command
of the seruice: it was a disaster of warre that Cæsar him
selfe could not haue preuented, if he had beene there to
command.
Ber.
Well, wee cannot greatly condemne our successe:
some dishonor wee had in the losse of that drum,
but it is not to be recouered.
Par.
It might haue beene recouered.
Ber.
It might, but it is not now.
Par.
It is to be recouered, but that the merit of seruice
is sildome attributed to the true and exact performer,
I would haue that drumme or another, or hic iacet.
Ber.
Why if you haue a stomacke, too't Monsieur: if
you thinke your mysterie in stratagem, can bring this
instrument of honour againe into his natiue quarter, be
magnanimious in the enterprize and go on, I wil grace
the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speede well in
it, the Duke shall both speake of it, and extend to you
what further becomes his greatnesse, euen to the vtmost
syllable of your worthinesse.
Par.
By the hand of a souldier I will vndertake it.
Ber.
But you must not now slumber in it.
Par.
Ile about it this euening, and I will presently
pen downe my dilemma's, encourage my selfe in my
certaintie, put my selfe into my mortall preparation:
and by midnight looke to heare further from me.
Ber.
May I bee bold to acquaint his grace you are
gone about it.
Par.
I know not what the successe wil be my Lord,
but the attempt I vow.
Ber.
I know th'art valiant,
And to the possibility of thy souldiership,
Will subscribe for thee: Farewell.
Par.
I loue not many words.
Exit
Cap. E.
No more then a fish loues water. Is not this
a strange fellow my Lord, that so confidently seemes to
vndertake this businesse, which he knowes is not to be
done, damnes himselfe to do, & dares better be damnd
then to doo't.
Cap. G.
You do not know him my Lord as we doe,
certaine it is that he will steale himselfe into a mans fauour,
and for a weeke escape a great deale of discoueries,
but when you finde him out, you haue him euer after.
Ber.
Why do you thinke he will make no deede at
all of this that so seriouslie hee dooes addresse himselfe
vnto?
Cap. E.
None in the world, but returne with an inuention,
and clap vpon you two or three probable lies:
but we haue almost imbost him, you shall see his fall to
night; for indeede he is not for your Lordshippes respect.
Cap. G.
Weele make you some sport with the Foxe
ere we case him. He was first smoak'd by the old Lord
Lafew, when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what
a sprat you shall finde him, which you shall see this verie
night.
Cap. E.
I must go looke my twigges,
He shall be caught.
Ber.
Your brother he shall go along with me.
Cap. G.
As't please your Lordship, Ile leaue you.
Ber.
Now wil I lead you to the house, and shew you
The Lasse I spoke of.
Cap. E.
But you say she's honest.
Ber.
That's all the fault: I spoke with hir but once,
And found her wondrous cold, but I sent to her
By this same Coxcombe that we haue i'th winde
Tokens and Letters, which she did resend,
And this is all I haue done: She's a faire creature,
Will you go see her?
Cap. E.
With all my heart my Lord.
Exeunt
Enter Hellen, and Widdow.
Hel.
If you misdoubt me that I am not shee,
I know not how I shall assure you further,
But I shall loose the grounds I worke vpon.
Wid.
Though my estate be falne, I was well borne,
Nothing acquainted with these businesses,
And would not put my reputation now
In any staining act.
Hel.
Nor would I wish you.
First giue me trust, the Count he is my husband,
And what to your sworne counsaile I haue spoken,
Is so from word to word: and then you cannot
By the good ayde that I of you shall borrow,
Erre in bestowing it.
Wid.
I should beleeue you,
For you haue shew'd me that which well approues
Y'are great in fortune.
Hel.
Take this purse of Gold,
And let me buy your friendly helpe thus farre,
Which I will ouer-pay, and pay againe
When I haue found it. The Count he woes your daughter,
Layes downe his wanton siedge before her beautie,
Resolue to carrie her: let her in fine consent
As wee'l direct her how 'tis best to beare it:
Now his important blood will naught denie,
That shee'l demand: a ring the Countie weares,
That downward hath succeeded in his house
Since the first father wore it. This Ring he holds
In most rich choice: yet in his idle fire,
To buy his will, it would not seeme too deere,
How ere repented after.
Wid.
Now I see the bottome of your purpose.
Hel.
You see it lawfull then, it is no more,
But that your daughter ere she seemes as wonne,
Desires this Ring; appoints him an encounter;
In fine, deliuers me to fill the time,
Her selfe most chastly absent: after
To marry her, Ile adde three thousand Crownes
To what is past already.
Wid.
I haue yeelded:
Instruct my daughter how she shall perseuer,
That time and place with this deceite so lawfull
May proue coherent. Euery night he comes
With Musickes of all sorts, and songs compos'd
To her vnworthinesse: It nothing steeds vs
To chide him from our eeues, for he persists
As if his life lay on't.
Hel.
Why then to night
Let vs assay our plot, which if it speed,
Is wicked meaning in a lawfull deede;
And lawfull meaning in a lawfull act,
Where both not sinne, and yet a sinfull fact.
But let's about it.
| All's Well, that Ends Well | |